


A Small Storm

by EKthered



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Meld, S02E11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKthered/pseuds/EKthered
Summary: He stepped out into the corridor and made his way to Pike’s quarters. He rested his palm on the doorchime and waited.There wasn’t an answer.Spock’s brow furrowed.He opened his mouth to ask the ship’s computer the captain’s location, but perhaps that would seem intrusive.He lingered for a moment more before shifting his weight to leave. As he took a step, the door opened.It was dark inside. Pike’s shape emerged from that darkness, just enough for Spock to identify unkempt hair, a white undershirt and red eyes.“… sir?” he questioned.“Spock,” Pike acknowledged with a rough voice.





	A Small Storm

He flexed his fingers, one at a time, and then the fist as a whole while he waited in the turbolift. Save for a small lingering ache, the medical staff of discovery had fully repaired his damaged wrist and hand. Spock let out a breath.

His gaze flickered to the chrono in the lift. It was just after the final shift change of the day. His captain should still be awake, having returned to Discovery before he and his sister had. He’d expected to see Pike in the infirmary – hovering over his officers was predictable behavior for his captain, but the man had remained absent.

Michael had refused to leave his side, though, pacing the length of the infirmary while they repaired his damaged bones, proposing theories about Control to herself and anyone who would listen, muttering.

It had been simultaneously annoying and endearing. And, gratifying, with a cloying sense of security about it, being attended to, protected by his sister.

Strange. Unfamiliar. Not unwelcome, which, surprised him after all this time.

The lift doors hissed open. He stepped out into the corridor and made his way to Pike’s quarters, the last unit down the hall. He rested his palm on the doorchime and waited.

There wasn’t an answer.

Spock’s brow furrowed.

He opened his mouth to ask the ship’s computer the captain’s location, but perhaps that would seem intrusive.

He lingered for a moment more before shifting his weight to leave. As he took a step, the door opened.

It was dark inside. Pike’s shape emerged from that darkness, just enough for Spock to identify unkempt hair, a white undershirt and red eyes.

“… sir?” he hesitantly questioned.

“Spock,” Pike acknowledged with a rough voice.

Concern zinged it’s way up Spock’s spine. He was in no way adept in distance telepathy like his father was, but even without touching him, an energy of dissonance, of pain, permeated the man before him. Without thinking, Spock took a step forward, coming to stand in the doorway. He reached up with his newly repaired hand, wanting to touch, to see what this was, understand. His fingers jerked to a stop at the last moment, restrained by his conscious mind and a sudden awareness of personal space.

Pike looked down at the fingertips hovering over his forearm, then back up at the Vulcan. 

He sighed, and moved aside, allowing entrance to his darkened space.

Spock dropped his hand and took a breath before following the man inside.

His eyes adjusted and he saw the captain’s uniform strewn over the kitchenette table and shoes piled on the floor below. A glass decanter stood half-full on his coffee table, accompanied by an empty glass.

Pike sank back to where he’d apparently been nested, on the couch in front of that bottle. He looked to Spock, then the drink, then back to the Vulcan.

“There’s a second glass above the sink, if you want some.”

Pike always offered Spock whatever was having when they were in his quarters on the Enterprise. Spock never accepted.

This time, he did.

Pike raised an eyebrow, watching as his Lieutenant pulled the glass down, then came to sit adjacent to him. Spock held out the glass.

Pike lifted the bottle and poured the Vulcan a generous helping of whatever the amber-gold drink was, before doing the same for himself.

 Spock sniffed the stuff, kept his sentiment of it off his face, and took a sip. It sizzled down his throat like hot starlight on a summer day.

When he looked up, Pike was watching him, fingering the rim of his own drink.

Unnerved by this uncharacteristic silence and somber mood, Spock leaned back and steeled himself to discover what had happened to his Captain, no matter the cost.

He must have expressed some of this on his face; a little smile found Pike’s mouth.

“I appreciate you, Mr. Spock.”

Spock observed the older man rake a hand down his face, and then into his hair. He must have done this several times, judging from his disheveled look.

“But I don’t think this is something I can talk about, yet. Maybe ever.”

“Something happened to you on the planet.”

“… yes,” Pike drawled, taking a pull from his glass.

Cocking his head, Spock quickly scanned the captain. He saw no wounds, no bruising or signs of a fight. The injury must have been emotional, he surmised.

“I’m fine.”

“Sir.”

Pike inhaled long and deep, then let it out slow, breaking eye contact and staring at the shadows by his bed. He worried his lower lip with his teeth, thinking, before taking another sip from his glass.

Spock mirrored him. He was content to wait, then. If all he could offer was his physical presence, it was more than darkness and an empty room.

Without conversation, Spock began to replay the events from the day in his mind. He saw the frozen bodies, Control, in human form, speaking of sentience and power.

He saw Michael, in danger, while he frantically attempted to halt the oncoming nanobots, reaching for her vulnerable human form.

He shuddered.

It was alright. He’d done it in time.

And there was still time, still this present moment, where the future was unwritten and they could still make a difference, alter what he’d seen.

He looked down at his glass. The liquid was gone. He felt his muscles loosen, his joints relax.

“You look like you’ve had quite the day,” Pike commented.

Spock blinked at him.

“I’m sure you aren’t missing the irony in that statement, sir.”

The human snorted, then reached to refill their glasses. Stretching, as he handed the tumbler back to Spock, his forefinger grazed the Vulcan’s finger.

In his mind, Spock recoiled.

_Fear Fear Fear pain loss duty fear fear_

He kept his composure, remaining externally impassive. Pike didn’t seem to notice anything amiss and returned to his deflated slouch.

His captain was terrified. Raw, electric, scared out of his mind terrified. The Vulcan had never witnessed fear so potent in this man.

He suddenly wished Michael was here. She would know how to help him. He was only a Vulcan, with no idea what to do for this… this thing.

“You’re brooding about almost losing your sister? I read the briefing, you saved her Spock, you’re alright,” Pike interrupted his thoughts.

Spock cleared his throat and took another sip of his drink. The horrible flavor was easing a little, becoming more bearable.

“It was fortunate, yes. But, from the experience, we now know that Control sees not only Dr. Burnham, but Michael as a significant threat. That means there are things we can do in the present to effect change in the future, after all.”

Pike closed his eyes and looked like he was in physical pain, his jaw locking.

Alarmed, Spock straightened.

“Sir? Are you-“

“It’s fine.”

“Sir,” Spock lowered his voice, “This is  _not_ fine.”

The captain’s eyes slid open and he hit the Vulcan with an icy, unfamiliar look.

“I’ve appreciated your company, lieutenant, but perhaps it’s time for you to-“

Before he could finish, Spock stood, abruptly. Pike watched him straighten his shirt with a tug, then shift two steps to the left. And then he sat right next to him.

“Captain, with all due respect, of all the people on board this ship, I know you best,” Spock said unsteadily, his voice not so easily controlled all the sudden. He pressed forward anyway. “And I have never seen you push anyone, especially me, away. That alone is cause for concern. I am concerned, captain, because I am invested in your well-being.”

Pike’s head reared back a little, away from the intruder in his personal space.

“I have… recently uncovered a strength in… allowing myself to be emotionally vulnerable in a way I have suppressed a long, long time.” Spock gestured towards the door. “For many reasons.”

Pike said nothing, but was watching with intensity.

“And sir, I – I wish to be available to you, should you need something you’re unsure of how to acquire.”

“Like what?”

Spock delayed his response by taking a long drought from his glass, his mind churning with possibilities he could use to defuse whatever was wrong with his captain without escalating the man’s defensiveness.

He finished the drink and set the glass down on the table, then folded his hands.

“If you wish to speak of whatever happened, verbally or otherwise, I am here, with your utmost confidence. If you wish me to sit and speak of other things, or simply sit in silence, prepare you food, or we could play a game of chess, whatever you require-“

As he spoke, a slight slur connecting his words, Pike’s gaze softened. By the end of his ramble, the captain was reaching out a hand, resting his palm on Spock’s wrist –

 _Fear horror helpless loss alone pain terror_ , **terror**

Spock was unable to field the unintentional sharing this time, his whole body recoiling at the intensity of the human’s emotions, a wounded sound tumbling from his throat without his consent.

Shocked, Pike ripped his hand away, eyes wide.

“Spock! What is, are you alright?”

He looked down at his hand and realization dawned on him. Shame filled his face and he too recoiled, made to stand –

“No,” Spock murmured, his arm shooting out, grasping Pike’s bicep.

Before the human could reject him, Spock constructed a webbing of mental support, of comforting thoughts, stabilized by memories of their time together, of how Pike had never failed him, and revealing how he had the utmost trust in his captain. Cautiously, he forced this blanket onto Pike’s mind, not so much in a mind meld, but a random shot in the dark, aiming as best he could for the human’s awareness with the avenue of touch he had.

Pike’s jaw slackened and his eyes blinked heavily, his neck bowing towards the Vulcan.

“Spock,” he breathed unsteadily.

Relieved his attempt had made some impression on the captain, he clasped the man’s other arm and reinforced his mental work, offering what soothing energy and support he could.

“Ngh,” Pike grunted, his entire spine curving, head down, his torso and shoulders leaning into the connection.

“Please, let me help,” Spock whispered. “Don’t bear this weight alone.”

For a moment he felt resistance, the human struggling to hold on to his feelings, reign in his emotions, reform a sense of stability, protect his lieutenant.

“You don’t have to, I can handle whatever this is, I assure you,” Spock said softly.

Pike lifted his face. Tears tracked down his cheeks, glistening in the starlight outside.  

“Christopher. Please.”

“...alright,” Pike croaked, his voice broken.

Spock nodded and disengaged one of his hands while he kept the other supporting the captain. Slowly, as so not to spook him, he reached out for Pike’s face. There was a moment of apprehension – the last time he’d melded with a human, his entire mental landscape had erupted in a whirlwind of broken time, failed logic and horror.

Not this time, he reassured himself, and gently pressed his fingers against Pike’s damp skin.

And then, he was with Pike. With him on the planet. With Tyler’s son, no, Voq’s son. The air was biting cold, the landscape harsh, but there was beauty there, too, as plants blossomed and water trickled through the temple.

He saw the time crystals. He felt Pike’s unwavering conviction.

He saw what the crystal showed the captain, and screamed along with him at the horror of that future.

It took Spock a moment to recover, to untangle his own fear from Pike’s, the human’s unrestrained emotions volatile and desperate.

Gently, he pulled his hand from the meld, before returning it to the human’s shoulder.

Pike was trembling hard with labored breathing. Spock squeezed his hands, returning his attention to the supporting, warm mental energy he could share though that more simple connection. He spotted a soft, hand-woven blanket he recognized from Pike’s quarters on the enterprise tossed over the back of the seat and he grabbed it, using one hand to cover the captain with it while his other maintained support.

The captain made an exhausted sound, reclining back to the cushions and allowing his head to rest atop the couch. He lifted his heavy gaze to the Vulcan as his breathing slowed.

“Don’t return to it,” Spock encouraged. “Concentrate on this moment. This living moment, where you are well and whole, and the future hasn’t been written.”

“He said it would be written,” he rasped. “That my future was set in stone-“

“Look at where you are,” Spock motioned upwards. “Look at how time is being distorted and broken and reformed, a thousand paths splitting and converging again with every choice each of us makes. This is an unprecedented battle, fought by beings from all spectrums of time.”

He shook his head and was shocked when he felt a wetness in his eyes. He would analyze that information later, but now, he had to impart this one thing, this important thing -

“How can you believe for one moment, knowing this, that I’d let that future happen to you? That the crew of the Discovery, or Enterprise, no matter where we are in the universe, would let that happen?”  

Pike’s chin trembled as he sucked in a sharp breath, the air catching in his chest.

Spock was no good at this; woefully inexperienced, but he pulled a memory from that day, when his sister reached for her old shipmate whom they believed miraculously survived – recalled how she offered herself, physically, and emotionally. Completely alien to Vulcans, but absolutely what he sensed he needed to do for this man.

He pulled his captain to his chest and hoped for the best.

Pike was boneless, allowing his weight to be shifted. Spock settled the human against his shoulder with no resistance.

“We will find a way,” he whispered down at the captain. “I swear it.”

A minute passed, and then another. Spock felt the captain’s breathing hitch, and then slow.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Pike spoke.

“… ok,” he agreed weakly. “Ok.”

 

\---fin


End file.
